


tsuki ga kirei desu ne (the moon is beautiful, isn't it?)

by orionstarlight



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Inspired by Taylor Swift, M/M, Singer Sakusa Kiyoomi, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionstarlight/pseuds/orionstarlight
Summary: “I don’t take my audience home.” Atsumu rolls his eyes, undeterred, and leans in closer.“Ya’ve never met me ‘fore in yer life, and if ya think I’m givin’ up ‘cause ya like routine, yer in for a shock, Omi-Omi.”Sakusa likes the anonymity the stage provides when he sings. Atsumu stumbles into the bar where he performs and opens a tab. They're strangers — will they be more?
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	1. Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Normally, I'm not a fan of posting things that aren't finished yet, but I couldn't resist sharing for the last day of Fluff Week, so here we are.
> 
> I've been in a Taylor Swift craze lately, listening to all her old albums and I thought 'how cool would it be if Kiyoomi sang her songs' and well. I made it happen.
> 
> Chapters will be released every Tuesday hopefully, maybe a little later, but I already have seven out of ten ready to be edited, so the time schedule shouldn't be an issue. Rated M for things said, the rating may change.
> 
> Find me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/orionstarIight) and feel free to drop by my [ ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/erissapphic)!

* * *

The first time Atsumu hears him sing, he’s sure he’s not supposed to be here. With the spotlight low and centred on the stage, he thinks there’s something too intimate about the whole ordeal.

“ _Please… picture me… In the trees…_

 _I hit my peak at seven… feet._ ”

His fingers move across ivory keys like the dents where he’s supposed to press down were made for him in advance, like he owns the music he’s playing, not the other way around.

There’s beauty in a silent bar that’s usually loud, ears turned and pointed at the man at the piano.

Atsumu has a nice spot, slightly to the left but still close enough to the front that he can see every detail of his face as he sings, voice low but void of any monotone, lyrics flowing like he wrote them himself.

“ _Sweet tea in the summer, cross your heart, won't tell no other_

_And though I can't recall your face_

_I still got love for you._ ”

His hands are tight on his crutches as he readjusts the way he’s sitting so he can lean in closer, drink on the table long forgotten even though his throat is dry.

“ _Passed down like folk songs_

 _The love lasts so long._ ”

Some part of him wants to be there with him, sitting on the top of the piano, looking down as he continues singing, just for him, smiling, even if he is just a stranger.

A perfect picture, is what he thinks he looks like. Hair black and somewhat tousled, but not messy at all. It’s been blow dried to, well, perfection.

“ _And I think you should come live with_

_Me and we can be pirates_

_Then you won’t have to cry._ ”

That’s not to mention the two moles on his forehead that are meticulously placed, like he was sculpted by the Greeks himself, something ethereal trapped in the body of a man.

He finds himself humming along like he’s familiar with the lyrics, like English isn’t just a language he had to learn in school. 

He may not understand the poetry behind the words precisely, but he does understand tone. He understands how love transcends words, how there’s a quiet passion in the way he sings.

Now, Atsumu knows he’s a romantic, avoids the term hopeless with that description, but even this feels a little too good to be true. Love at first sight, well, he'd like to believe it happens outside of films and books, but again, he’s not hopeless.

“ _I used to scream ferociously_

 _Any time I wanted_.”

His time is running out, he can sense it with the way his fingers are antsy on the piano keys, like he’s slowly becoming the person he always is when he’s not on stage.

“ _Sweet tea in the summer, cross my heart, won't tell no other._ ”

He’s not a fan of it, the way he is singing the lyrics like they’re breaking his heart, like he’ll never see them again. Atsumu thinks that a man so beautiful doesn’t deserve to feel the pain of heartbreak, and he wishes the piano's melody would never stop. 

And if he tires of singing, Atsumu is more than happy to hold him close as they dance, ignorant to any and all things around him. He isn’t sure how he’s going to give this man the world, but he knows he’d rather die than not try at all.

“ _Passed down like folk songs…_ ”

He’s got seconds left of the performance, and they’re slipping away from him like in an hourglass.

“ _The love lasts so... long_.”

He finishes the drink in front of him in one go, forgetting just how much even one sip burns, but at least his ankle hurts less. It’s not enough and he grabs his crutches, standing up as the lights go down on the stage, heading towards the bar, ready for another drink.

“‘nother Whiskey Sour, please,” he says. “And, uh, can I open a tab?”

When he drinks it a little too quickly, the bartender shoots him a look. “You enjoyed the show, then, I’m guessing?” Atsumu stares back.

“Yeah, yeah. His voice is, uh, draws ya in. Haven’ heard anythin’ like it, ever, I think. How’d ya know?”

“You’re not the first person to look like that after his performance. _Seven_ is one of his more popular songs, when he’s alone up there. The audience likes the piano,” she explains, wiping a few glasses dry, no one calling for her attention yet.

“There are nights when he’s not alone up there, then?”

Hope lines his voice, and since he’s injured, he’s finding himself doing crazier things, energy not exerted during practise. He’s silly for thinking about coming back here.

“Uh, yeah, I think he’s playing with the band tomorrow. No idea what song though, that guy likes his surprises.”

“What’s his name?” The bartender smiles at him, puts the cocktail she’s mixing to another Whiskey Sour she’s made.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she winks, moving away.

He turns, looks at the black curls and two moles standing next to him, and nearly chokes on the air he’s inhaled. It shouldn’t be legal for him to look this good this close, but he is, and Atsumu doesn’t know if he’s gonna make it the night.

“Yer beautiful.” His eyes go wide and he starts scrambling. “Like, er, yer singin’ is beautiful. Ya look really good on stage.”

The guy chuckles into his Negroni, the confidence he was radiating earlier almost coming back, and looks at Atsumu. “So when I’m not behind a piano, I’m not beautiful?”

His throat is dry again, not sure how to approach. Does this even count as flirting? He’s always been a bad drinker, easily heat flushed and alcohol seeping into his bloodstream a little too quickly. His brother can only hold out a little longer, but it’s enough for him to be jealous.

“Yer eyes have a little green in ‘em.”

So that’ll be the last drink of the night for him, lest he wants to embarrass himself further. The guy just looks away, amused, staring into his cocktail, stirring it with the two black straws. The ice clinks with every passing second, and Atsumu seriously considers downing the one in front of him too just so he can pay and go home.

“You’re flirting with me and you don’t even know my name. Are you always this bold when inebriated?” 

“Bold is… one way to put it,” Atsumu says, regaining some dignity. “Atsumu Miya.” He holds out his hand.

The singer doesn’t take it. “Kiyoomi Sakusa.”

He’s not angry per se, at the blatant rejection, but it stings a little. Still, he’s recovered a little, and now he feels less inclined to give up out of nowhere. He leans into his personal space slightly, not enough to make him move away, however.

“Ya play anythin’ else apart from the piano?” he asks, confident.

“A few things, yeah. Enough to gain me a few encore requests I never grant.” The ice clinks again as he picks up the glass, wrist moving leisurely. He’s watching Atsumu, like he knows where this is going.

“‘s too bad. I dunno why you’d ever want t’ leave the stage when it looks like yer home.”

Is he being too forward with his assumptions? He can’t tell. Kiyoomi sits next to him, an enigma, something half hot and half cold, and if he was a little more sober he would no doubt spend the whole night unravelling it.

“Nice to know how keenly you were watching me,” he remarks, turning away slightly. But he’s already taken into account the way his body relaxed with his words, and Atsumu knows there’s a wall he can break down easily enough.

“If yer not interested, ya should really tell yer body. It gives ya away,” he sneers, one palm propping up his chin.

“I don’t take my audience home. I come here to sing, not look for someone to have sex with,” he deadpans. Atsumu rolls his eyes, undeterred, and leans in closer.

“Ya’ve never met me ‘fore in yer life, and if ya think I’m givin’ up ‘cause ya like routine, yer in for a shock, Omi-Omi.”

“You misunderstand.” He turns to Atsumu, half-open white shirt showcasing a tattoo he hadn’t noticed earlier. “Either way, I’m not interested. I’m not one for flirting where I work.”

Atsumu has dissociated from the conversation, focusing entirely on the minimalistic leaves that spread out on his chest from his right shoulder, and he wonders if they carry on beyond that, to a stem drawn across his spine, or if they end abruptly, like his sentences have so far.

“Then we find a different bar. Or take a walk. Have an adventure. Ya seem like the last person in the world tha’ would want that, so ‘s why ‘m offerin’,” he grins, flashing these brown doe eyes people always have a hard time saying no to.

Kiyoomi finishes his drink, unimpressed, and stands up, putting on a coat that was lying next to him. Atsumu stares up at him, not sure how to proceed. He’s nearly out the door before he turns around, fighting off a small smile.

“Come on, Atsumu. Show me what your idea of a good time is,” he says, leaving promptly afterwards.

He’s struggling to stand back up after those drinks and a sprained ankle, rushing to put his own coat on. “Easy there, Crutches, he’ll wait. You wanna close that tab or are you coming back tomorrow?”

“If he’s performin’, ’m comin’ back.” The bartender smiles at him, taking their empty glasses.

“Same time!” she calls after him as he hobbles out of the bar, running as fast as he can half-tipsy and still not quite used to his crutches.

He's still waiting for him, looking like some kind of love interest from a Hallmark Christmas movie, even though it’s late April and Atsumu doesn’t need to be taught the meaning of the holiday season.

“Sorry. Crutches,” he says, waving them slightly.

“So hiking is out of the question?” He’s quick on his feet, Atsumu has to give him that. It’s nice to have someone who can give back an equal amount of snark. “You actually got any ideas or am I taking the lead on this one?”

Most of the ideas running through his head require two working legs, one of which he’s unfortunately missing, but surely he can think of something until his ankle heals and he can take Kiyoomi dancing.

He looks over at him, and notices the mask that’s fitted under his chin. He thinks it’d be nice if it was off completely and the only way to do that is to offer him food.

“How d'ya feel ‘bout ice cream?” Kiyoomi chuckles like he did earlier, except this time it’s more hearty, and his eyes crinkle with his smile.

“I like ice cream. But I don’t think anything is open right now. So how about I take you somewhere I need to go anyway?”

Atsumu sucks in a breath and says, “I dunno. Ya don’t seem like a guy who knows how t’ have fun.” Kiyoomi keeps on smiling, pulls up his mask, and walks on.

His steps are slow enough for Atsumu to catch up, but he still makes small huffs of indignation, not pleased at the prospect of having been left behind. He’d stare at the moon if he could, distract himself, but something about it reminds him too much of the man next to him, the one his drunk senses are telling him to kiss before they part ways.

He does things a little fast, he knows that, even if he always blames it on the fact that volleyball is a sport that requires high adrenaline. He wonders what the hell he’s doing out with a guy he’s just met, someone who probably will have no problem forgetting about him until he comes back tomorrow.

“So are you going to tell me what you did to your ankle or are you just going to think about making conversation with me?”

Atsumu is hurtled violently back into reality, forgetting that words are supposed to come out of your mouth after you ask someone to spend the evening with someone. His grip nearly falters on his crutches, but he holds steady.

“Sprained it after I tried settin’ in a real awkward position. At least our season is over for now, so Coach isn’ that angry, but he’s, like, not happy either. Anyway, gotta take it easy for the next few weeks.”

“You’re a volleyball player?” The half of Kiyoomi’s face he can actually see looks genuinely surprised.

“Uh, yeah. MSBY Black Jackal Atsumu Miya at yer service,” he says, dipping his head like he’s bowing. It makes Kiyoomi hum in appreciation, so he figures he’s doing something right.

“Guitar. That’s the other thing I can play, in regards to your earlier question. I’m surprised you didn’t notice the backing track that was playing along. I recorded it myself.”

How is he supposed to tell him he was too preoccupied listening to him sing to actually pay attention to the instruments that built the song? He probably shouldn’t, so instead he swallows and focuses on the way his curls bounce.

“Acoustic, electric or bass?” Kiyoomi opens his mouth to answer but Atsumu is quicker. “Scratch tha’, ya can probably play all three, can’t ya?”

“Haven’t mastered electric yet. One day, maybe.” Atsumu is prepared to ask follow up questions, but Kiyoomi’s taking a left turn, pushing on a door, and it isn’t until they’re both inside that he realises where he’s standing.

“Ya gettin’ another t’ttoo?” Kiyoomi shakes his head. “Yer not makin’ _me_ get a t’ttoo, are ya? ‘Cause ‘m not drunk ‘nough for that.”

“Relax. I’m just getting pierced, it’s a previously scheduled appointment. I’ll be in and out before you know it. Then we can try and find that place with ice cream you think is open.”

Atsumu’s falling hard and fast. He’s not even sure why he was hesitant to step into the bar in the first place. He follows Kiyoomi blindly into a back room, taking in all the pictures of tattoo designs and different places one can get pierced.

This is where the differences between him and his brother start to set in.

Osamu’s always been bolder with his choices when it comes to his body. He’s got three individual tattoos and one that’s a set between him and Rin, along with pierced lobes, whereas Atsumu… Well, he prefers to stay clear of that stuff.

Not because he doesn’t find it compelling — on the contrary. Anyone with piercings and tattoos is enough for Atsumu to throw his sense of dignity out the window. It’s simply a matter of him not having the stomach for it. Osamu can gloat all he wants, he’s perfectly fine with having nothing pierce his skin for the foreseeable future. 

“Are you just going to stare off into space?” Kiyoomi has a needle in his ear and Atsumu nearly falls over just seeing it.

“Just thinkin’. We can always buy ice cream somewhere on the way to yer apartment.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. “I told you, I don’t take my audience home.” The needle is removed, replaced with a small black stud. It looks good next to the small cross on the same ear, albeit a little red.

“At least lemme walk ya. ‘s what a gentleman would do.” Kiyoomi makes a face of ‘right because a gentleman is what you come off as’, but turns his attention to the guy who’s cleaning his ear.

This is crazy, he thinks. He’s following this guy out of a bar, into a tattoo parlour, wanting to buy him ice cream so he can see it smeared across his nose and then walk him back home wherever he lives, hoping he’ll get a new number entered into his contacts app.

“Hey.” Kiyoomi is way too close to comfort right now, his face something less than inches away. “Akiya says there’s an ice cream store eight blocks from here that should still be open. You up for the walk?”

“I practically run for a livin’. Eight blocks is nothin’.”

Kiyoomi smiles loopily at him, before turning his head to the side. He’s inspecting him, almost, and Atsumu is frozen.

“You’d look good in earrings.” Atsumu’s eyes grow wide as Kiyoomi looks into them. “Do you trust me?”

“I just met ya, Omi.”

“But you’re here.”

This isn’t something he can argue with, because it’s a solid point in the making. So, when Kiyoomi pulls him towards the chair he was on earlier, he doesn’t complain even though he’s practically shaking with fear.

It’s not until Kiyoomi pulls up his mask again and snaps on some gloves that that fear escalates and he pushes himself back as far as he’ll go. Kiyoomi just shakes his head like he’s smiling and then leans forward lightly.

“Relax. This here is my day job, since singing’s more of a hobby. I know what I’m doing, you don’t have to worry.” Atsumu swallows, feeling a little lighter, but it’s still not enough.

“Right. Yeah, ‘s fine.”

Kiyoomi cocks his head, unsatisfied. “Are you scared of needles?” The lack of an answer is enough. “Here.”

His hand is guided towards his thigh and fingers spread out evenly.

“I’m just going to do one ear. Feel free to hold on as tightly as you want.” He can almost hear the smirk in his voice but he feels comforted nonetheless, this cocky bastard singer-piercer in front of him, and he wonders if he does tattoos as well, but stops that thought as soon as it happens so he doesn’t spiral.

He knows his grip is far too tight for the stranger he is, but as soon as that needle goes through his ear all those thoughts about being too rough go out the window. It’s like someone fired a gun off right next to him and now he can’t hear anything and all he can feel is the fact that _there’s a goddamn needle in his ear_.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Atsumu. It’ll be over and done with in a second.” He scoffs at that, which gives Kiyoomi the opportunity he needs to replace the needle with a small stud and then there’s something cool wiping at his ear.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’ll give you some antiseptic to spray on it two times a day. Don’t take it out for at least three months.” The searing hot pain is now more of a dull ache, his ear having developed a heartbeat. “And don’t worry, it’s on me.”

Atsumu’s throat feels scratchy as Kiyoomi moves some things around and that’s when the knowledge that he’s actually gotten _pierced_ because he’s _infatuated_ with this guy in front of him starts to set in.

“So ya sing, play guitar and piano, and ya also know how t’ pierce people’s ears. Yer insane. This is the most insane first date I’ve ever been on.”

“You still owe me ice cream,” smiles Kiyoomi, pushing a bottle of antiseptic into his hands.

“Right. Ice cream.”

He stands up on wobbly legs, grabbing on tightly to his crutches wishing they were Kiyoomi’s thighs, and walks gingerly out of the door he’s holding open for him. His ear is still thudding loudly and he’s trying not to fall, but Kiyoomi glances over at him from time to time, like he’s watching him just in case he needs to catch him.

“You’ve got strong hands. I’ll be sure to remember that.”

Kiyoomi does have to catch him then, right in front of the front desk, because that comment does something to Atsumu he’s not proud of.

“He okay?” Kiyoomi waves Akiya off as he pays, still holding Atsumu steady.

“First time getting pierced. He’ll be fine. I’ll see you Saturday?”

“First appointment’s at nine,” he says, and then the two of them are walking out, Atsumu having regained some semblance of control.

The ache in his ear is loud as he turns and says, “Ya got any other special skills ya wanna share with the class?”

“Well I have been told I’m a good kisser,” he hums, and Atsumu groans.

“Yer killin’ me ‘ere, Omi.”

It’s effortless teasing from then on, both of them trying to show the other what they’ll be missing by not spending the night together. Atsumu isn’t angry, not really, sort of even respects the decision, because they’ll be seeing each other tomorrow anyway.

“I genuinely thought you’d protest more to the idea of getting pierced,” he says suddenly, three blocks away from their destination. 

“Anyone woulda said yes when they look int’ yer eyes. Green emeralds of mystery are incredibly hard t’ resist.”

“Green emeralds of mystery… That's a new one.” He looks away from Atsumu and up at the moon. “I like it.”

“Speakin’ of things ya like: What flavour are ya gettin’?”

“Mint chocolate. Or lemon, if they have it.” Atsumu makes gagging noises next to him, likes he’s been personally offended.

Atsumu waves a crutch at him. “Yer disgustin’. Mint ice cream is disgustin’ and now ‘m five per cent less atttract’d t’ ya. Maybe ten.”

Kiyoomi just laughs behind his mask, enjoying the bickering. There’s something to be said for how Atsumu’s blatant honesty makes him feel at ease, the company better than it’s ever been.

“You just lack the exquisite taste I clearly have. I feel sorry for you, I really do.”

“Taste? _Taste?!_ Yer the one who enjoys somethin’ that tastes like _toothpaste_. If anyone’s feelin’ sorry ‘ere, ‘s _me_ for _ya_.”

Kiyoomi spends most of the way trying to convince Atsumu that his theories about mint ice cream are incorrect — to no avail, because he shows no signs of budging — only to come across a closed shop, all the lights turned off, even the neon sign on the street.

It’s silent for a few seconds before Kiyoomi takes the initiative. “Sorry your ice cream idea didn’t pan out.”

“I’d offer t’ take ya dancin’, but ya know.” He waves them again. “Crutches.”

“Well you can always walk me home instead, if you want. It’s not far.” Atsumu considers his options.

“I’d like that, Omi.”

* * *


	2. Wildest Dreams

* * *

Atsumu has a scowl on his face the moment he walks into Onigiri Miya and spies Rin.

He knows he comes round to help from time to time when it’s his day off, helped him set up here in Osaka when he opened up the second store. Can’t cook for shit, focuses on serving the customers and manning the till, but that’s tolerable.

What’s not tolerable is how in love they look every time they brush past each other or one of them has a break and stares at the other in awe. Only this time, they opt out of all that, or at least do it less than usual.

Because with a shiny new stud in his left ear, Atsumu is now the poster boy for ‘ _alcohol makes you do stupid things_ ’, and the both of them are enjoying the situation way more than they should be.

“Oh, this is rich. Nah, sorry, ‘s hilarious.”

“Yer the worst brother in the world. ’m disownin’ ya. Find a new name.” Osamu just laughs through bites of food.

“Fine, but yer the one who has t’ tell Ma she lost two sons t’day.” He places a hand over his heart. “Gonna break her heart. She loves Rin.”

“Both of ya can eat shit,” he spits, going back to his soba.

“Aw, come on, we’re not the ones who went ahead and got pierced because the mysterious stranger at the bar had eyes made of gold that you couldn’t resist,” laughs Rin, grabbing a bite of the shrimp onigiri Osamu has set aside from him as he walks back up to the counter.

“He has a point. Ya fuckin’ scared of needles, ‘Tsumu, how the hell did this guy get ya on board with _that?_ ” He points at the earring, which Atsumu promptly covers up.

The chopsticks in his hand feel slippery. “His eyes were so fuckin’ green, ‘Samu. Coulda bought anythin’ with those emeralds. And that _voice_. I never wanna hear another song if ‘s not him singin’ it.”

“Dude, you’re so fucking whipped. You’re worse than ‘Samu was our third year of high school.”

“Yer one t’ talk, Mr I-Can’t-Sleep-When-We’re-Not-T’gether-Unless-Ya-Call-Me-For-At-Least-An-Hour.”

“Shut up,” shoots back Rin, effectively kissing his mouth shut. Atsumu thinks he’s going to throw up in the next three seconds. “Also, it doesn’t look _that_ bad. Just weird, I guess. ‘Samu looks better.”

“Once again proof that I’m the better twin. Maybe ya should be the one t’ give up the Miya name.”

“Fuck ya. Both of ya.” He chews his soba. “But seriously, yer not comin’ t’night?”

“No. Whatever weird sexual tension the both of ya have got goin’ on, I don’t wanna be a part of it.”

“Mm, and I haven’t shared a bed with this guy in weeks. No fucking way am I missing this night. Find someone else.”

Rin and Osamu have definitely forgotten about Atsumu opposite them, now kissing like there isn’t anyone present in the restaurant, and he’s pretty sure there’s a health and safety violation in there somewhere.

“Oi! Pay attention t’ me, ‘m havin’ a crisis ‘ere!”

The both of them sigh. “Just take one of Kōtarō’s sisters and her wife. Make it a double date, ‘m sure they’d be happy t’ leave the house, what with the toddler.”

“Ask Keiji and Kōtarō to babysit and it’s a done deal,” adds Rin, getting out of the booth and leaving the two brothers to finish the conversation.

“I would, but ‘m pretty sure Keiji’s just finished with his work deadlines and would kill me if I tried t’ get him t’ look after a smaller, less r’strained Kōtarō.”

“Then yer goin’ alone. ‘sides, yer gonna be late at this rate. Go home and get changed,” says Osamu, standing up and picking up their empty plates. “Oh, and ya have three days t’ give me my jeans back.”

Atsumu doesn’t hang around much longer after that, knowing that if he doesn’t get going right now there’s no way he’ll make it on time to catch the beginning of his performance. He waves the two lovebirds goodbye, avoiding hitting someone with his crutch, tells them not to forget to wake up tomorrow morning, and heads out into the warm April air.

* * *

White shirt and Osamu’s jeans make him a vision in the bar, and he can already feel the gaze of the table of women behind him burning holes, along with a couple guys scattered here and there, but he can’t tell if it’s jealousy or attraction. 

He decides to ignore it, asks the bartender — same woman as yesterday — for a glass of white wine, feeling a slightly classier than he did yesterday. The band’s equipment is all set up on stage and yet there’s no sight of them, and maybe Atsumu holds the wine glass a little too hard as he sits at his table, waiting for the lights to go down.

He does get his wish, though, once his leg has been bouncing for a considerable amount of time, but it’s quickly interrupted with an intrusion from one of the women that was behind him, a martini in her hand.

“Hi handsome. You look like you know how to show a girl a good time.” Her hand brushes up against his arm and all he wants to do is look up at the stage. “What do you say we get out of here?”

He longs to answer her no, but there’s the matter of Kiyoomi coming out under the warm yellow lights and Atsumu’s throat goes dry, heart hammering in his chest, the grip on the white wine stronger than ever.

Because here he is with his two perfect moles and perfect blow-dried hair, bass guitar hanging over tight black jeans and a red satin shirt that has his tattoo in view, staring right at Atsumu.

He turns to the girl. “Came here for the show. Sorry.”

“That’s a shame. I have my own ideas about a show we could put on,” she pouts, and it’s truly a shame she’s so beautiful.

Truly, because she’s just no match for the singer whose eyes are boring right into him.

“‘m not yer guy, darlin’. Sorry.” He drinks a good quarter of his wine, turning away from her and her grimace, watching as Kiyoomi whispers something to his bandmates, which leads to a shuffle of music sheets just as the lights go down even lower.

Normally he’d go for a little light flirting, take a dip in the waters to see if it’s worth going for a swim, but there’s too much at stake here. Too much being the guy with a shiny new stud and lips trying to stop themselves from smiling.

And, oh, when he plays the intro to the song, Atsumu thinks this is better than the piano, even if Kiyoomi isn’t up there alone anymore.

“ _He said, ‘Let’s get out of this town_

 _Drive out of the city, away from the crowds’._ ”

He reminds himself he’s not allowed to get drunk tonight, has to focus on scoring a second date and hopefully his number this time. More than a walk home, void of ice cream, almost seems like a dream, but then he’s never been a realist.

“ _He’s so tall, and handsome as hell, h_ _e’s so bad, but he does it so well_

 _I can see the end as it begins, m_ _y one condition is…_ ”

Kiyoomi’s not taking his eyes off of him and Atsumu might faint like he’s the one under the bright lights, not used to this attention, not used to the way someone dedicates every word out of their mouth to him. 

“ _Red lips and rosy cheeks, say you’ll see me again_

 _Even if it’s just in your…_ ”

The satin moves across his body like it was made for him, and Atsumu wonders what it would look like pooled on the wood floors of his apartment, tall windows of one of the highest floors in the apartment block letting in the rays of the moon.

It would probably sink wordlessly, nothing more than fabric, but oh, there’s no way he’d let Kiyoomi be as quiet as his shirt. He wants him to sing, right in his ear, in more ways than one, test out his entire vocal range.

“ _And his voice is a familiar sound_

 _Nothing lasts forever… but this is getting good now._ ”

Atsumu smiles loopily at Kiyoomi’s smirk, watches his fingers pull the chords out of the guitar, listens to them ring around him.

“ _And when we’ve had our very last kiss, my last request, it is:_

 _Say you’ll remember me…_ ”

There’s something in his eyes he has trouble placing, trying to differentiate it from a burning anger or a confidence-filled haze. Whatever it is, it’s bright, and Atsumu isn’t going to look away for the world.

“ _Even if it’s in your_

 _Wildest dreams… Ah… Ha…_ ”

His simple presence behind the microphone has him sweating, wishing he was closer than three tables distance away, close enough to touch him and mark up that pretty skin that’s simply begging to be blemished.

“ _You’ll see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night_

 _Burnin’. It. Down._ ”

Atsumu takes a sip of his wine then rests his head against it, shines his teeth at the singer that’s got his heart in a vice. If he gets home tonight with a second piercing, he wouldn’t really be surprised.

“ _Some day when you leave me, I’ll bet these memories_

 _Follow. You. Around._ ”

The girl who was next to him is long forgotten. What’s more important is the voice that drops a couple tones in pitch.

“ _Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice shirt_

 _Staring at the sunset, babe_.”

He hasn’t heard anything like it. He wants to hear it forever. 

“ _Say you’ll see me again_

 _Even if it’s just pretend…_ ”

The band accompanies him again, holding him up in the end of the song, and he sways slightly, silently laughing along with the rest of them as they join in on vocals.

“ _Red lips and rosy cheeks, say you’ll see me again_

 _Even if it’s just in your—_ ”

The red satin moves with him as Atsumu takes in more white wine. He’s not looking at him anymore, too entranced with singing louder than he has all night, hitting notes that keep going higher and higher.

The bass he’s holding allows for a different man than the one that sits behind the piano, someone made for shiny lights and big names. This bar isn’t going to sate him forever, there’s no way, but he’s acting like it will.

His attention is snapped back to the present and away from the future that doesn’t exist when it’s just his bass left out of the whole band.

“ _In your wildest dreams… Ah… Ha…_ ”

There’s scattered applause from the patrons of the bar, and if Atsumu could stand without crutches, he’d walk right up to the edge of the stage and raise his glass with the grandest look of lust he could muster.

Instead, he waits with now two glasses of scotch, waiting for him to appear next to him, having ordered them for when the song was over. He wants to talk to him again, wants to listen to his snark and wit, wants to hear his voice when he speaks, not just sings.

He spies him walking over to the bar and is oh so close to waving him over, but his hand dies where it’s going up when he sees him lean into a guy’s ear, whispering something the other deems exciting enough to put his coat on to.

He simmers, picks himself up on his crutches, stops Kiyoomi where he’s standing, going after the guy he whispered to, presumably out of the bar.

“So. Bass t’day?” He’s shot a pointed look but doesn’t deter. Being ignored is something he’s more than used to, and at this point grabbing someone’s attention isn’t that hard anymore. 

He’s got his tactics.

“Last minute song change, but I made it work. Where’s the girl you were talking with?”

“What girl?” Atsumu cocks his head, confused. Surely he doesn’t mean the woman who came up to him earlier?

“Right. Anyway. Thank you for coming, but I have a previous engagement. I’m sure she’s looking for you, too. Goodnight, Atsumu.”

He’s nearly able to sidestep him — it helps that Atsumu can’t walk properly — but one of the glasses of scotch is put up to his face and he finds himself remembering his words from yesterday. _Ya’ve never met me ‘fore in yer life, and if ya think I’m givin’ up ‘cause ya like routine, yer in for a shock._

“Wha’s one drink, Omi?”

It’s a good question. What _is_ one drink? It really all depends on how fast he finishes it, depends on whether or not he wants to listen to whatever Atsumu might have to say. The ice in the scotch is melting as he makes his decision.

Kiyoomi looks over at the guy waiting for him and shakes his head ever so slightly, taking the empty space next to Atsumu. He studies him, looking at the healing earring.

“Earring looks good. Does it sting?” He takes a sip, allows the burn to happen.

“‘s fine. Dull ache, though I got reprimanded by my brother for it. Called me irresponsible,” he chuckles.

“It was, a little. But you weren’t that drunk.” Kiyoomi readjusts his chair, moves a little closer, elbows on the table. “So, you liked the bass then?”

“Liked it? Shit, Omi, I think I loved it. Also, ‘s a nice tattoo ya have. I’ve been meanin’ t’ ask ya about it.”

“There’s not much to tell. I like plants and simplicity. Sketched out the design with a friend and a couple days later it was on my chest. It’s the biggest I’ve gotten done.”

Atsumu’s eyes grow wide at the statement. “Ya’ve got more? Ya hafta show me, ya gotta! C’mon, shirt off and tattoos on!”

“Maybe not in the bar that’s still letting me perform. I like it here.” The satin comes off his wrists and Atsumu stares at the freckles engraved in his complexion, plays connect the dots in his head.

It’s light conversation, bordering on small talk just about, but it flows easier with the two of them, two similar souls bickering the night away like a married couple, squeezing in one-liners in between the anecdotes they share.

The band is still playing in the background, songs Atsumu distantly recognises, and they might be good, but Kiyoomi’s better. He can’t dispute the fact that they do sound good, though, and anyone in the bar knows that their fingers were made for the instruments they play.

“So why don’t ya sing more songs? I’ve never seen ya up there for more than one.”

“Well, for starters, slots are expensive.” The scotch swirls in his hand. “And my wrists can only take so much strumming or pressing on keys.”

“Huh? Yer wrists?” He just about restrains himself from reaching out and touching.

“They’ve been flexible since childhood. I have good days and bad.” He runs his thumb across one of them. “Who knows. In another life, maybe I could have been a volleyball player.” He chuckles at this.

Atsumu thinks about the absolute vision Kiyoomi would be in a high school volleyball team uniform, or even the MSBY Black Jackal’s uniform, and how it would hug those muscles of his he hides with loose fitting shirts.

“What school did ya go t’? Maybe we would’ve crossed paths.”

“Uh, Itachiyama, I went for their music programme. My cousin, Motoya, played libero.” He doesn’t notice the way Atsumu’s breath hitches. “What about you? Maybe I caught some of your games when I went to watch him play.”

Atsumu coughs up the dirty thoughts on the tip of his tongue. “Inarizaki. Yer school was quite the powerhouse. Too bad I never caught yer eye in the stands.”

“Ah well. Guess you’re the one in the stands now, huh?” There’s a twinkle in those green eyes that shines brighter than the lights bouncing off the band.

Atsumu is used to being in the spotlight, all eyes on him, cameras showcasing his talent near worldwide sometimes. Sue him, he’s a little bit of a narcissist because of it, but maybe he wouldn’t be opposed to giving a few of those cameras up if it meant he gets to look at Kiyoomi anytime he wants.

“Given that ‘m in the stands, I guess ‘s my responsibility to ask ya for an encore, right?”

The ice in the scotch has near melted and Atsumu’s hair is in his eyes and he’s looking straight into Kiyoomi’s, blinking slowly so his eyelashes do the work he needs them to. He knows Kiyoomi doesn’t do encores, heard it all but yesterday.

Good thing he’s the furthest thing from a realist.

“And if I say yes?”

Good thing Kiyoomi likes the unexpected more than he lets on.

“I would give ya my number. That way, ya can let me know the next time yer playin’, and I can come and see ya. Seem fair? Or different terms?”

Kiyoomi glances down into the brown liquid in the glass he’s holding. Downs what’s left of it, stands up and readjusts his shirt, turning to the stage where the band is having a short break.

“No, I think I like those terms just fine, Atsumu,” he smiles, placing the empty glass down on the table and heading back to the band.

Atsumu follows him all the way as he talks things over, as he sorts out whatever needs to happen for an encore, and then he’s putting the bass that’s plugged into the amp back over that red satin shirt Atsumu wants to see on his floor.

And then Kiyoomi starts to play again and all those thoughts get lost in a breeze.

“ _Midnight… You come and pick me up, no headlights…_ ”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man school is kicking me with tests right now, but we seem to be on schedule, so I can't complain. Each chapter will be a song from every one of her albums, including a very special epilogue, so I do hope you stick around for the next eight :)


	3. Teardrops on My Guitar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload! I found out I had two deadlines today that I'd completely erased from my head, and I was like 'Am I forgetting something...?' 
> 
> For now I'm going to have to update once a week (I know I know I'm sorry >.<) just so I can make sure I have everything done for the next two weeks (tests and birthdays, March is always the same I swear), but I do hope you enjoy this chapter -- we're delving into the backstory a little bit tonight :)

* * *

He scrolls mindlessly through his phone as the sunlight looks in on him from the rising sun, Saturday shaping up to be sunny despite the forecasts of rain. Technology still has a way to go to match nature in that aspect.

He’s on his way to his first appointment, an industrial piercing if he remembers correctly, drinking a coffee that’s more milk than it is caffeine. Industrials take time and patience, and he really hopes the guy who’s getting it done doesn’t start screaming in Kiyoomi’s ear before he can put the second needle in.

And while catching up with old friends through their Instagram stories is all well and good, there’s a more prominent thought in the back of his mind, that being the number in his phone that he’s left untouched for now.

It’s been a couple days and he hasn’t really touched it. Atsumu probably wants to kill him for not having made a peep, but he doesn’t know when he’s performing next, and there’s not much in other reasons for him to text. Even if he does miss the wit and shared drinks and flushes of embarrassment.

It’s almost cute how his hopefulness reminds him of that of a child’s, or of how his confidence could be easily mistaken for cockiness, or how he brings out the extrovert in Kiyoomi simply by striking up a conversation and not letting him leave the table until he’s done talking.

He nearly drops his phone when it rings he’s so engrossed in thought, fingers slippery with a small sheen of sweat, but he manages to answer it. 

“ _Are we still on for lunch? Coach is giving us the afternoon off today,_ ” says Motoya, some balls in the background hitting the linoleum.

“You’re buying this time, remember? And yeah, I should be free before four.”

“ _Great, I’ll bring you some pickled plum onigiri._ ” Kiyoomi’s heart squeezes at the thoughtfulness. “ _I’ll be by quarter to four._ ”

He’s about to hang up when he thinks better. “Hey, Motoya, you guys played Inarizaki in high school, right? Do you remember a guy called Atsumu Miya?”

“ _Do I? It’d be hard to forget him, especially considering he’s Rintarō’s brother-in-law now. Twins sure are something_ ,” he laughs, and at this Kiyoomi stops, a corner away from the parlour.

“Twins, huh?”

“ _Why’d you ask? You spot him in a magazine or something?_ ”

“Mm, he came to the bar a couple nights ago. I got him to pierce his ear. He’s… interesting.”

“ _No way? That was you?!”_ There’s some shuffling on the other end. _“Okay, I totally have more questions, but I’ll save_ _them for later. See ya, Kiyo!_ ”

Atsumu has a twin brother. Well, that’s not something you learn every day, and now he’s wondering if the two times he’s seen Atsumu one of those times it wasn’t him, but there’s no way, because he’d recognise those brown eyes that stare into his anywhere.

This time he stops right in front of the parlour, stunned by the revelation. He’d never thought he’d be able to recognise someone by their eyes alone, but here he is. 

Recognising someone by their eyes alone.

He puts the thought away and tucks it neatly into a box that he’ll unwrap at a later date, focuses on getting inside and setting up for his first appointment — the industrial. He sighs, but it’s better to have it done before he’s tired out by having to maintain cleanliness all by himself in the workspace.

He waves to Kenta who’s talking over possible cover-ups with the girl who’s on her third appointment, and it’s hard to forget her considering her purple hair. That and she’s the one that plays the drums in the band.

She gives him a large smile, tells him that he’s piercing her tongue whenever he’s free next, and then she’s engaged with Kenta again, whatever she just said to Kiyoomi is left in the air, like she’d never said it at all.

He opens the door opposite the room where he pierced Atsumu, hesitates just a little, and then looks to find someone already in the room. He squints, and then the figure turns around, and he has to blink a little.

Neatly cropped brown hair and depilated eyebrows, a smart look despite the relaxed fit of his clothes. It’s a difference from his white uniform, or of the old one, with purple trimmings, but it still looks good. The jeans look familiar too, if he’s placing them correctly.

“I didn’t think you’d be one for an industrial piercing,” he says gently, taking off his coat and putting the coffee on his desk.

“Kiyoomi, I didn’t know you’d— I can make an appointment with someone else.” He gathers his things in a calm manner. “I didn’t think it’d be you.”

“It was a million in one chance that it’d be the same Kiyoomi. Besides, I’m a professional. Please, sit.” He gathers the materials he needs onto his tray, double checks he has every product needed to clean the area, and then sits down on the stool.

He never shakes. Kiyoomi makes it a point to have the steadiest hands in the whole parlour, and he’s not shaking right now, but he might get a wave through his whole body, and that’s what he’s really afraid of.

So, he focuses, thinks of how his fingers work and how to move his wrists in the ideal way, pushing gently, watching as the blood trickles out, wiping away quickly with a tissue and telling him not to worry. It’ll all be over soon, and he’ll have a bar in his ear instead of a needle.

He remembers the first time he did one of these, the client nearly fainted from the stress and tried grasping at him, almost faltering his grip. When he got his own ear done, he knew what was coming, but for a newcomer it truly was something. There’s something to be said for the bravery (stupidity) of getting an industrial as the next piercing after your lobes.

He curses at the need to shake, but after all, it’s not every day that your ex walks into your place of work and asks you to put two needles in his ear at once. But then, at least it gives Kiyoomi a reason to book a slot in the bar for tomorrow evening.

He contemplates a text straight away but thinks better. He’ll do it after work. He turns around, going for his coffee, but the room isn’t empty. He stills, looking into those crazy brown eyes he fell for years ago.

“You’re still performing, then? That’s good. Music was always more your forte than volleyball. It’s important to do what you love.”

He despises being known like this, like he’s made of glass and there’s nothing to hide, no mask to cover up all that his lips tell. That’s how breakups work, he knows, and memories are scattered across people, impossible to pick up.

Kiyoomi knows pity when he sees it. “Please. I’d rather not talk about it. Come back if there are problems.”

He moves to walk out of the door Kiyoomi is holding open and stops short in the last second. They both know what’s coming, but that doesn’t make it any more comfortable.

“It was good seeing you, Kiyoomi.”

That’s what he leaves him with, walking to the front desk to pay the fee he owes for the piercing. It’s funny. He never let himself get pierced those times Kiyoomi asked him if he would.

“I wish I could say the same, Wakatoshi.” And he goes back to disinfecting the tools he needs for his later appointments, not letting even the smallest speck of dust, invisible to the human eye, stay on any surface.

* * *

“Rin please I need this! Don’tchya love me?!”

“ _No._ ”

Atsumu wails over the phone, throwing himself down onto the sofa, exasperated. He’s been trying to convince Rin and Osamu to give him Motoya’s number for the better part of an hour and failing miserably.

“Naw, come on, I gotta have _some_ dirt on the guy. _Especially_ if you said Motoya went t’ eat lunch with ‘im t’day.”

“ _Yer not gettin’ shit. Anyway, shouldn’t ya be at yer physical therapy?_ ” asks Osamu, taking over the phone, and he can almost smell the food they’re preparing over the phone.

“Finished early, the ankle’s better every day. Should be able t’ go with just the shoe an’ one crutch now.”

There’s shuffling and the phone is passed back to Rin. “ _You gonna take Kiki dancing when it’s all well and healed?_ ”

“‘Kiki’?”

“ _Kiyoomi is too long. Motoya loved it. Well, are you?_ ”

“Yeah, maybe. Doesn’t seem like a dancer though. And he still hasn’t texted me.” Atsumu sighs wistfully. “Maybe those two nights are all we’ll ever have.”

“ _Ew. Disgusting. Still not giving you anything, so go do something productive instead of pining the evening away._ ” And with that, the call ends and Atsumu is left lying on the sofa, takeaway dinner forgotten on the coffee table.

It’s not like Kiyoomi has any reason to call him or message him if he’s not got a performance date in the calendar, but — and it’s not a sign of hopelessness — he thought he might just get a small ‘Hey it’s Kiyoomi’ out of him.

Maybe that’s pushing what the universe is willing to give him, but it’s better than being pessimistic about the whole ordeal. All he can think of anyway is a white shirt and a red shirt and a piano and a bass guitar and a microphone and a stage with all the lights on him.

Sure, he can’t sleep because images flash by in his head instead of dark emptiness, but that’s just a problem that comes with being a dreamer; you don’t get to choose when you dream.

He stands up and collects the dirty dishes, pocketing his phone in his sweats. The shoe still feels weird on his foot, heavy as hell without crutches, but he hobbles over to the kitchen and starts washing the plates and cups.

He does have a dishwasher, and it’s useful when he has company over, but there’s something therapeutic about soap suds under his nails and war water washing over his hands as he cleans the surface to perfection. He’s nine years old again, helping his dad with the dishes after dinner.

He stacks the things up neatly, so they dry properly, and turns up the volume on the TV, ready to pine the evening away with bad romance films, none of them with unhappy endings. The sofa welcomes him as he melts into it, and he’s more than happy to fall asleep there and then, but his phone buzzes before he can.

_Tomorrow night 7:30_

_Think you can make it?_

Atsumu nearly falls off the sofa at the way his heart flips.

* * *

So, he’s a little early, sue him. Or don’t, because he still hasn’t received this month’s pay and it’s the off-season right now and he really wants to buy Kiyoomi another drink. Maybe two. Or three or four or five, but not so much that he doesn’t remember tonight.

There’s a guitar set up on the stage, acoustic, not bass or electric (he doubts Kiyoomi would go for an electric tonight, although he can’t possibly explain why), and he takes a seat at a table two tables away from the stage, a little closer than usual.

He’s inching when it comes to closing the distance, because the fear that Kiyoomi is going to push him away is extensive, so as much as he loves playing with boundaries, there are some lines you don’t cross if you want to get what you’re yearning for.

“Hey. Brought you a drink.” A Cape Codder is passed to him from an outstretched arm covered by a light brown jumper.

“Omi. Yer early.”

He takes a seat. “Looks like I’m not the only one. That excited to see me again?”

“Apparently I don’t have anyone else t’ spend my evenings with. Looks like yer my one and only source of entertainment.”

There are a million things running through his head now, the main one being that he isn’t allowed to slip up when talking in case Kiyoomi never texts him again. He also hopes he’ll be allowed to walk him home a third time, even if there’s no encore this time around. It’s a bad habit, thinking about too many things, but he’s never been very good at stopping it.

But then he looks at his eyes and he simply melts, although anxiety still litters his face in small doses. It’s not easy to get rid of it, no, but looking at Kiyoomi does help. A lot.

“I don’t mind as much as you think I do. At least I can count on you to stay to the end of a song, even ask for another.”

“Well, yer hot. That helps,” teases Atsumu, and it makes Kiyoomi laugh a little. Where he hears wedding bells in that, he has no idea, but they’re there.

“Glad to know you find me attractive. It wasn’t obvious at all. It’s good to have that out of the way, third date and everything.”

Atsumu’s heart can’t help fluttering with the way Kiyoomi lets those words slip by his lips, confirming the idea in his head that this is, in fact, a date. It’s really not much of a statement, but considering he’s all tenseness and jitters, it helps.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Kiyoomi, who leans back a little in his chair. He takes in the dark green shirt, the muscles it accentuates, and decides to speak before his thoughts unravel him.

“You look so nervous someone would think it was you going on stage in a minute,” Kiyoomi says matter-of-factly, peering at him over a White Russian.

“‘s funny. ’m never nervous before a game,” he muses. “Guess ‘s different when there’s no team behind ya.”

“Well, it does feel better sometimes when I play with the band, I suppose. But I like being alone up there too. It makes sure all eyes are on me instead of Chinami or Naohito.” He enjoys the blush that forms on Atsumu’s cheeks as a result.

“So, acoustic t’night?” asks Atsumu after coughing lightly.

Kiyoomi struggles to resist a laugh. “Yeah, acoustic. Got some stuff on my mind.”

“Oh?”

The bartender — Miyuki again — waves at him.

“You’ll see,” he clarifies, not clarifying anything.

Kiyoomi slides the Russian to Atsumu as he stands up, a silent plea to keep it cold, and then he steels himself for the stage, lights bouncing off his new stud. 

There’s something hidden in the way he picks up the guitar, strap nestling around his body, sitting down on the wooden stool in the centre, behind a lowered microphone. Maybe if Atsumu knew music a little better, he’d understand it. But he doesn’t.

So, he focuses on the tell-tale strums of the guitar and the softening features as Kiyoomi takes the first and last breath before he starts singing.

“ _He looks, at me_

 _I fake a smile so he won’t see._ ”

Pop country, but to Atsumu it’s poetry. Like anything and everything he sings is straight from his heart.

“ _I’ll bet he’s beautiful, that guy he talks about_

 _And he’s got everything that I have to live without_.”

_Oh_ , Atsumu realises. This isn’t going to have a happy ending, not if Kiyoomi can’t even meet his eyes today. Smart, loose jumper he’s wearing, hiding in.

“ _He says he’s so in love, he’s finally got it right_

 _I wonder if he knows he’s all I think about at night._ ”

Atsumu steels his breath.

“ _He’s the reason for the teardrops on my guitar_

 _The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star._ ”

It’s not about him, he knows that much, but he needs to know who managed to hurt him like this. With details that still linger, finely crushing the pieces of him when he walked out.

“ _And there he goes, so perfectly_

 _The kind of flawless I wish I could be._ ”

But he is flawless, or at least he is to Atsumu. And if he isn’t, so what? There’s nothing in the world he’d change if he could.

“ _Look in those beautiful eyes_

 _And know he’s lucky ‘cause—!_ ” 

If they were outside, Atsumu is sure those ‘green emeralds of mystery’ would reflect every inch of the moon to perfection. And maybe that’s cheesy, sappy, but Kiyoomi makes his insides feel like goo and it’s the only thing he can come up with.

“ _He’s the song, in the car_

 _I keep singing, don’t know why… I do…_ ”

Everyone has their own ways to deal with heartbreak. Atsumu’s is usually a few days of eating himself full of Osamu’s food, pushing his feelings into his serves and spikes, while Kiyoomi’s is… letting people share it with him.

“ _I’ll put his picture down and maybe get some sleep tonight—!_ ”

Fingers strum away, wrists move elegantly from under a light brown jumper over a white shirt, and eyes close. There are no tears, but he’s thinking of them. He knows, he can sense the way he’s travelling back in time.

“ _He’s the time taken up, but there’s never enough_

 _And he’s all that I need to fall into_.”

Eyes crack open and the non-existent moon is reflected like in a sea of green, and no more words need to be said tonight, Kiyoomi’s lips just slightly curving up.

“ _He looks… at me_

 _I fake a smile so he won’t see…_ ”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I wrote ‘There’s something to be said for the bravery (stupidity) of getting an industrial as the next piercing after your lobes’ as a self call-out, because I’m the idiot who thought this was the best course of action.
> 
> I will say that an industrial hurts like a bitch because they have to put two needles in at once before the bar goes in, but the end result is definitely worth it and I’m happy I got it done when I did :p


	4. Enchanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy <3

* * *

Atsumu doesn’t know how he does it, really, in the end, but by God is it worth every bit of planning it’s taken to get to this moment, Osamu, Rin, Motoya and Kana, Rin’s sister, agreeing to come along with him tonight, although he did ask Kiyoomi earlier if it was okay.

It’s very possible he only agreed considering he’s playing with the band tonight, a longer song than usual however, but Atsumu is still close to bouncing with happiness — and he can finally do that, because the cast has finally come off and physical therapy has made him better than ever.

He has been told to take it easy, but he’s a little too hectic for that, so he’s already promised himself to take Kiyoomi dancing this evening. Somewhere a little darker, where the music is sultrier.

“Oi. We’re here as a group, ‘Tsumu, stop starin’ off int’ space,” says Osamu, kicking his shin under the table.

“It’s not his fault he’s a hopeless romantic. You have to cut him some slack, ‘Samu.”

“Man, I’d say it’s rare to see someone so whipped for Kiyoomi, but you’d be surprised how many people he lures in,” adds Motoya. “I don’t know if it’s the piercings or tattoos or voice.”

“It’s everything. All are equally attractive on their own, but when put together, all of that multiplies. Makes you irresistible, really.”

None of them — well, except for Atsumu maybe — miss the way Kana’s eyes aren’t on Kiyoomi, but rather on Miyuki behind the bar, in all her pierced, tattooed and honey-voiced glory. Not like it’s anything new. She purposefully misses the nights Kiyoomi comes to perform now so Atsumu doesn’t go squandering her chances with the pretty bartender.

“‘m right, here, y’know?” barks Atsumu, receptive again.

“Barely,” mutters Rin. The rest of the table laughs, but the lights start to go down before Atsumu can retort and he turns to the smile waiting on the stage.

They’re closer today, needing a booth to hold them all, and he’s grateful for it. Beer bottle in his hand, he sits at the edge, glad to see the acoustic guitar back but in different circumstances.

The strumming starts and it feels rough, but in a good way, and suddenly the company around him shuts up, decides to listen to this voice from heaven.

“ _There I was again tonight, f_ _orcing laughter, faking smiles_

_Same old tired, lonely place._ ”

Rin and Osamu seem to understand a little better why Atsumu was acting like a lovesick puppy, and Motoya is smiling, taking in the reactions, having forgotten just the effect Kiyoomi has on people.

“ _...Vanished when I saw your face_

_All I can say is it was_

_Enchanting to meet you…_ ”

“He’s good. Really good,” comments Rin, but Atsumu isn’t listening. He’s focused on the smile that isn’t being wiped away, even if it’s small.

“ _Crossed the room, your silhouette_

_Starts to make its way to me…_ ”

Atsumu leans forward.

“ _The playful conversation starts,_ _I counter all your quick remarks_

_Like, passing notes in secrecy…_ ”

Motoya focuses on a low conversation with the two husbands, while Kana slips away to the bar and Atsumu momentarily forgets that he’s here with a group.

“ _All I can say is I was_

_Enchanted to meet you…_ ”

The drums start to back him up, along with the bass guitars and percussion, and whatever is building is something wonderful. 

“ _This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go_

_I’m wonder struck, blushing all the way home—_ ” 

“When was the last time ya sang me a song, Rin? Why does ‘Tsumu get a musician an’ I get a lazy bastard?”

“ _You_ were the one who proposed. Don’t you dare back out of this marriage now.”

“Wait, weren’t you supposed to propose, Rin? Didn’t you have the whole thing planned out?”

“Yeah, well, ‘Samu’s a bastard and asked me when I was brushing my teeth. At least everyone was already in town to celebrate.”

“ _Two AM, who do you love_

_I wonder ‘til I’m wide awake…_ ”

“I nearly died laughin’ when ‘Samu called with the good news that night,” chuckles Atsumu. “Man, Rin must’ve been pissed.”

“Are you kidding? I wanted to bite his head off. Arsehole made me choke on the toothpaste too.”

A chorus of laughter and Atsumu uses the opportunity to catch Kiyoomi’s eyes again. They both know he’s paying attention even if he’s talking with his family, and that somehow means everything to him.

“ _All I know is I was_

_Enchanted to meet you…_ ”

Kana’s back with more drinks, joining in easily with the bullying of her dearest brother and brother-in-law. Fact of the matter is, she’s got the most dirt on anyone from their old high school years.

The only people free from her blackmail are Shinsuke and Aran, and none of them ever figured out why if they all took part in the princess tea parties equally.

“ _This night is flawless, don’t you let it go_

_I’m wonder struck, dancing around all alone—_ ”

Atsumu rolls his eyes in Kiyoomi’s direction as if to say, _‘can you believe what I have to put up with’_ , and he swears he sees a hint of laughter pointed in his direction.

He is listening to him, though, too. Listening to the story he’s telling and thinking about their very first night together. He’s definitely sure he was blushing all the way home, although there was no way to tell if Kiyoomi was too, what with his mask.

He can’t help hoping he was. There’s just something about imagining Kiyoomi blushing because of him that makes the muscles of his heart twitch.

“ _This is me praying that—_

_This was the very first page, not where the story line ends_

_My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again—_ ”

“Hey, this is their last song of the night, right?” asks Motoya suddenly, beer stopping centimetres from his lips.

“Yeah, Kiyoomi wanted t’ perform last so he wasn’ keepin’ us here.” Atsumu stands up. “With that, ‘m gonna get him a drink for when he’s done.”

“ _Please don’t be in love with someone else_

_Please don’t have somebody waiting on you_.”

He tries not to trip on his way there on his bambi legs, feeling strange without the crutches he’s been using for support all this time.

“ _Please don’t have somebody waiting on you..._ ”

Miyuki is already waiting there with a Negroni, and he takes it gratefully, heading back slowly, eyes never leaving Kiyoomi’s. He stops just short of the booth, stands and watches, oblivious to the stares.

“ _—Don’t you let it go_

_I’m wonder struck, blushing all the way home—_ ”

He looks good like this, with the shirt he’s wearing displaying more of that tattoo Atsumu wants to run his tongue across, singing his words straight into Atsumu’s ears.

“ _This is night is flawless_

_Don’t you let it go—_ ”

He takes a risk, moves away from the booth and towards the stage, at an empty seat right near the front so Kiyoomi can’t help but look in his direction, and sits down with care, waiting.

“ _I’ll spend forever, wondering if you knew — I was enchanted to meet you..._ ”

Kiyoomi looks straight down at him, meets his steady gaze, and finishes the song.

“ _Please don’t have somebody waiting on you…_ ”

He’s breathless, it’s easy to see, chest heaving with emotion, anything and everything he was feeling having been poured out into the lyrics. He pushes the Negroni around across the table and catches the smile he’s flashed, Kiyoomi’s jaw sharper than his wit.

He waits for him on the side of the stage as the band says their thanks and packs up, holding the drink and watches the ice clink against the sides, trying to avoid the heated gazes burning in his back from his family. It gets a little easier when there are soft curls bouncing above two perfect moles facing him directly.

Kiyoomi looks down at the drink. “A Negroni. You—”

“—Remembered? Well, yer not easy t’ forget, Omi. Not even the smallest details about ya.” Kiyoomi avoids touching him as he takes the drink, but Atsumu pays him no mind. “And I promise ya, there’s no one waitin’ on me after this.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” Kiyoomi scoffs, and Atsumu adopts a bewildered expression from his forward one. “I’m still here instead of heading straight home, aren’t I?”

Atsumu’s mouth goes dry. He knew Kiyoomi had the soul of a bastard under that freckled skin of his, but he never expected to hear a statement this bold, a statement that leaves him flushed to the nines.

“Yer gonna be the death of me. And here I thought I could smoothly ask ya dancin’ later t’night.” Kiyoomi opens his mouth as if to say something, but then takes in Atsumu’s appearance, noting the lack of crutches.

“In that case, why don’t we say goodbye first. Best not to leave them with unanswered questions.”

Atsumu swears he’s dreaming. There’s no way the man in front of him is real. He simply can’t be this lucky.

“Sorry t’ disappoint, but they’re definitely still gonna have unanswered questions. They’re like that.” Kiyoomi chuckles.

“I figured as much. Lead the way?”

Atsumu does his best to not trip over his own feet as he heads back over to the booth, knowing exactly the kinds of looks he’s on the receiving end of right now, but if Kiyoomi notices them at all, he doesn’t really care at all.

“You guys aren’t disappearing on us already, are you?” inquires Motoya, self-satisfied smirk on his face.

When Kiyoomi finishes the Negroni all in one go, the question answers itself. “Sorry. I’ve been told there’s a dance floor waiting for me.”

Kana shakes her head, smiling slightly, but gets up as well, and the booth moves up and out. It’s been a good night, all in all, and it feels right to end it there. Something tells them there’ll be plenty of opportunities for Kiyoomi to spend time with the group yet to come.

“Don’t stay out too late with that drummer,” Kiyoomi says, making Atsumu fall again a little more at the fact that he even noticed Motoya’s eyes on Chinami while singing. “You have to be at practise at seven.”

“I’m older than you, Kiki,” is the reply, and Kiyoomi’s eye twitches at the nickname that has unfortunately caught on. He could live with Kiyo and Omi, but Kiki is rather pushing it.

“I can see why ‘Tsumu likes ya. Yer a good singer,” says Osamu, breaking the tension between the two cousins, placing a firm hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder against his wishes. “Like the voice of a heartbreaker.”

He moves away again before Atsumu can wrestle him off, and Rin is doing his best to hide his snickers as he pulls Osamu away from the present company and towards the door, waving goodbye.

Kiyoomi feels hot from the touch, barely notices the rest of them clear out, and it’s a few seconds before he can look at Atsumu again. “Did your brother just threaten me?”

He looks sheepish. “Yeah, sorry. He’s my brother. He feels like he needs t’ protect me from more bad breakups.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I make it a point not to break anyone’s heart. It’s not a kind feeling.”

The thing is, Atsumu knows that no matter how this thing between them were to end, there’s no way that he’s going to end up broken. He doesn’t know how he knows, so call it a gut feeling or a view based on signs from the universe, but he’s certain he’s right.

It wipes the sheepishness off his face right away, and he smiles, straightens up a little bit.

“I’ll wait for ya to get yer coat from the back room. See ya outside?” Kiyoomi sends a gentle nod his way and they part, a little bounce to Atsumu’s walk until he runs smack into Osamu outside.

“Have the two of ya kissed yet?”

The question makes him want to scream, because sure, every time he sees Kiyoomi he thinks about wiping the slight smile he wears off with a surprise kiss and tells himself ‘ _I’ll do it this time_ ’, but whenever he leans in closer, that smiles makes his head go fuzzy and he never gets to close that distance.

“Nah, and yer a piece of shit for askin’. And ya shouldn’t go around touchin’ people ya don’t know,” Atsumu says pointedly, about three seconds away from kicking his brother in the shin.

One, two, three.

“Ow! The hell, ‘Tsumu!” Osamu rubs at his shin, sending his brother a look like he’s going to knee him in the gut. “Can’t even ask ya a fuckin’ question after ya were sendin’ the guy hearts out of yer eyes all night.”

Atsumu had rather hoped no one had noticed, but maybe sitting right at the front at the end of the song wasn’t the smartest choice in making sure that would be the case. He sighs, not apologising, but still feeling back for kicking him as hard as he did. Not all of it was deserved.

“Ya shouldn’t go around touchin’ people ya don’t know,” Atsumu repeats, and this time Osamu catches the warning in his eyes.

“Still think the two of ya shoulda at least kissed by now. Yer not one for takin’ it slow.” He continues before Atsumu can get a word of protest in. “Or for bein’ this accommodatin’ for yer partners.”

“I like him.” Osamu smiles.

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna mess it up.”

“I know. Good luck.” And he turns on his heel to where Rin is standing on the end of the street, waiting at the corner, the both of them leaving just as Kiyoomi comes out of the bar, mask pulled over his lips.

* * *

“You know, when you said dancing—” Kiyoomi’s head just about brushes the ground “—this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Atsumu grins, knows perfectly well he’s used the element of surprise he’d been given to his maximum advantage, which is how Kiyoomi finds himself in the position he does now, moving to the pace _Atsumu_ sets, bodies closer together than he’d ever though he’d them be, an old tango playing in their ears.

“I’ve been takin’ dance classes since I was six, Omi. When I ask someone dancin’, I ask someone _dancin’_.”

If there’s one thing Atsumu does, it’s making good on a promise. Taking Kiyoomi dancing is only one of those promises, and he’s going to make the most of it, the most of the vulnerable position he’s got him in, legs matching the beat of the music.

He might be enjoying himself a little too much, skin bristling with goosebumps at the way Kiyoomi’s cheeks are flushed pink, but as long as he thinks of it as payback for the earring on their first date, he finds he doesn’t feel guilty at all.

Since he’s leading, he’s always eight steps ahead in his own mind, so he can’t be caught off-guard or have trouble remembering what comes next. Not that he needs to, at this point, considering he moves faster than he can think, having danced to the song enough times to know what he’s doing.

And if Kiyoomi stumbles a little bit, well, then Atsumu is there to catch him, lead him through the promenade. No more forward and back, it’s the left and right now. He adds swivels and turns, turns Kiyoomi a hundred and eighty degrees on the first quick step and the following steps between his feet.

Kiyoomi does his best with what feels right, takes two steps to the right, throws his torso to face the left, resuming moving backwards after. Atsumu can’t help but smile at the blatant hesitation on his face before he takes a step, and Kiyoomi catches him laughing all too easily.

“This isn’t exactly easy, you know?” he hisses, and the snark makes him smile even wider. “Not everyone is as naturally gifted at this as you.”

“‘s not easy for me, either. I’ve got a stumblin’ idiot t’ look after on a dance floor full of people who know me. ‘s a little embarrassin’, actually.”

Kiyoomi shoots him a glare that makes him melt, because _God_ he looks sexy when he’s irritated, and if the action makes him lean in a little closer as his hand moves on his back in a not-so-subtle way that makes Kiyoomi’s breath hitch, well — he’ll deny it forever.

“Atsumu—”

“I wish I could’ve taken ya dancin’ sooner. I wanna hold ya in my arms forever, never let ya go.”

And with that he spins him out too quickly for him to give an answer, and then spins him back in again, making him dizzy. That’s when he really notices the gold in Atsumu’s eyes, the way the colours shine when he’s doing something he loves.

Which of course ends with the both of them not paying attention to what they’re doing, legs tangling, Atsumu falling straight onto his back and taking Kiyoomi down with him.

“Shit,” says Kiyoomi, immediately trying to stand up. “Atsumu, are you all right?” He extends his hand.

Atsumu takes it, tries to stand up, only to put all his weight on the ankle that he was supposed to take it easy on, and goes back down again, wincing at the pain. “If I say yeah, can we keep dancin’?”

He may have been a little worried before, but at the question Kiyoomi finds it’s impossible for him to do anything other than chuckle. He helps him up, carries him to a chair, and gently checks his ankle.

“You should learn to be more careful when a doctor tells you to. I appreciate the tango, but not at the expense of your health. Can you walk?” He extends his hand again, and Atsumu is more cautious this time when he stands, but he still hisses when his foot touches the ground.

“Guess not. Looks like yer gonna have t’ carry me, huh, Omi?” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, puts Atsumu’s arm around his shoulders and grabs their coats in his hand, helping him off the side of the dance floor and out into the windy night under a brightly lit sky.

“I’ll get you a cab to a clinic, see if they can tell us if you need any extra treatment right now, and then we’ll get you home,” he says, already hailing one.

“ _‘Tell us’_?” Atsumu says, blinking at the craters of the moon reflected in Kiyoomi’s eyes.

“You didn’t think I was just going to leave you alone like this, did you? I hope you don’t think that little of me,” he huffs, helping him into the backseat with a certain amount of care and gentleness Atsumu has only ever gotten from his family.

As Kiyoomi talks to the driver, he looks at him again, at the way those two moles on his forehead scrunch up when he’s trying to come to a decision, and he relaxes despite the pain he’s feeling.

“Oh, Omi, I could never think little of ya.”

* * *


End file.
